


and i'll love in all the wrong ways

by Valor



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:06:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22611484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valor/pseuds/Valor
Summary: “Eyes on me,” Felix orders. Authority suits him ridiculously well. “If you’re going to be distracted—”“No,” Sylvain swears. Felix doesn’t understand the kind of hold he has—not forced, not destined, but chosen. Sylvain has no obligation to a Queen not his own, but he would gladly march and fight and die if Felix asked him to. He thinks: if this is love, then he’d gladly drown in it, and burn in it, and sink into it until it consumes him whole. “I’m thinking about you.”—The Jack of Hearts pays the Queen of Spades a visit following a declaration of war. They make promises they probably can't keep.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 16
Kudos: 107





	and i'll love in all the wrong ways

**Author's Note:**

> UHHHH part of an extremely self-indulgent au. i got really lazy after like 8k words of really useless worldbuilding so i did the logical thing and deleted it all in favor of vague sex instead.

“Geez, I thought I was gonna have to wait here until nightfall.”

The door slams shut. Sylvain counts four steps before a calloused hand grabs the front of his shirt and jerks him forward, close enough to taste the anger that sparks and shoots like lightning.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Felix hisses, and all Sylvain can think is how beautiful he looks. (Like a raging storm, chaotic and devastating. Like a tempest, wild and untamed. He wants to gather Felix into his arms and fill all the hollows of his bones, feel all the heat of liquid fury sink into his veins.)

Sylvain smiles. It’s equal parts terrifying and empowering, that Felix doesn’t slap his hand away when it comes up to cup his cheek.

“Why do you think I’m here?” he asks, thumb brushing over the angry curve of Felix’s lips. “I _tried_ meeting with you earlier, but it’s hard to announce my arrival when I’m supposed to be at least a whole nation away—at the minimum.”

Felix looks like he might bite. Instead, he shoves Sylvain back and withdraws, jaw tight. “Then leave,” he snaps, though they both know he doesn’t mean it. How many times has he bitten and clawed over the wretched red heart over Sylvain’s chest, as if any mark he leaves can outlast the hand of fate? “It’s already too late. Your Queen declared war.”

“I know,” Sylvain answers, and coaxes Felix into his arms with a tug of his wrist, a brush of fingers against his waist. They slot together perfectly. “Do you want me to defect, Felix? Or should I steal you away instead?”

Felix scoffs. He turns his head, just enough to give Sylvain access to his neck, and lays his hand over Sylvain’s. “Don’t be stupid. You’d be killed in a heartbeat.”

“But I’d be able to die by your side.” And isn’t that the most romantic gesture he can manage, the greatest sacrifice he can offer? It’s the most meaning his life will have. “By the Queen I _want_ to kneel for, instead of the one I was born to serve.”

Felix’s grip tightens. When he drags Sylvain in, it’s like the pull of the ocean. (And _oh_ , how Sylvain would love to follow, to drown in everything Felix is. Queen of Spades, Queen of Spades—won’t you show mercy and let him sink?) 

“Shut up,” Felix commands. Black spades flash briefly on amber eyes, but its effect is wasted on a Jack whose allegiance is tied to another Queen. “You won’t die. Or are you saying you’re so weak that you’d allow yourself to fall in battle?”

“Of course not,” Sylvain laughs, leaning in until his forehead can rest against Felix’s own. (How badly he wants to see those spades again, feel that tug at his core that wills him to obey.) “But you’re pretty scary to go up against, you know? You killed a good number of my men the first time we met, and they weren’t pushovers by any means.”

Felix frowns, and Sylvain can feel the furrow in his brow. He lays kisses to smooth it over, but the displeased look remains.

“Don’t flatter me,” Felix retorts, and takes hold of Sylvain’s chin to force him to still. “We’re going to be at _war_. Make sure you stay clear of my path.”

“But I love watching you fight,” Sylvain protests, settling his hands on Felix’s hips. “And I can never keep my hands off you for too long. Speaking of…”

His touch roams. Felix seems almost like he might allow it, until he shoves at Sylvain—once, to make the backs of his knees hit the chaise longue; twice, to make him fall onto it. Felix straddles his hips almost immediately, and all the sharp edges of his seduction curls around like a vice.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think _this_ is all you traveled here for, Jack of Hearts,” Felix says, and pins Sylvain’s wrists above his head when they try to reach for him again. “And for what—pleasure? Or to fulfill the orders of your Queen and kill me?”

“For love,” Sylvain breathes, because he’s sure that Felix can feel the way his heart rattles in his ribs, begs and shouts and yearns to jump right into the Queen of Spades’ hands. “Besides, if I came here to kill anyone, it’d be your King.”

“So you could take his place?” It’s beyond the realm of possibilities, but Sylvain dreams, sometimes—and Felix lets him. They both have their indulgences. “If he doesn’t crush you, then the crown will.”

“You’re right,” Sylvain laughs, rolling his hips. He sees the way Felix’s breath catches in his throat, and wishes for nothing else than for the chance to steal away that little gasp and cage it in his own lungs. “I’m not fit to rule, and I’d much rather be crushed by your thighs instead.”

Felix’s look of disgust loses all its edge when his free hand busies itself with undoing the buttons of Sylvain’s shirt. He has deft fingers and plenty of practice; Sylvain arches, just a little, when he feels Felix’s cool touch against burning skin. 

“Fool,” Felix says, and Sylvain hums in agreement. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re of no use to me dead?”

“So you _do_ care,” Sylvain teases, grinning when Felix’s nails dig into his skin in retaliation. (He wishes they’d claw up higher, _higher_ , and tear the Kingdom of Hearts’ sigil right off his flesh.) “Aww, Fe. You sure know how to make a guy swoon.”

“From blood loss, sure.”

Sylvain glances down. Felix doesn’t have to, both because he can feel it and anticipate what Sylvain is going to say next. “Feels a little more like the exact opposite, actually—”

“Ugh,” Felix groans, and finally lets go of Sylvain’s wrists. Predictably, Sylvain takes advantage of his freedom. He sits up with an arm curled around Felix’s waist, drawing him in for kisses that only break when Felix bites and Sylvain _moans_ , enraptured and needy.

“How long do we have?” Sylvain asks, hands falling to palm at Felix’s ass. Felix tilts his head back, breathing low; Sylvain dips in to kiss at his throat, teeth just barely grazing over the black spade there. “Your King’s going to come for you soon, isn’t he?”

Felix grinds his hips, impatient and rough. “I don’t care. If he interrupts, I’ll kill him.”

It’s a pleasant enough thought that goes well with the drag of blunt nails down his back, but: “You wouldn’t.”

The frustrated sound that Felix makes goes straight to his cock. It’s mitigated—handled, soothed, apologized for—by falling back and dragging the Queen with him.

“I wouldn't,” Felix finally admits, when he lifts his hips just enough to tug his pants low. “Where the hell are your oils, Gautier?”

“Kiss me, and I’ll tell you.”

Felix reaches down to grab Sylvain through his trousers. The next breath to leave Sylvain comes in a shudder. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“...Left pocket,” he manages to say, and quickly replaces Felix’s hand when it leaves him in search of lubricant. “Fe—”

“Shut up,” Felix growls. He’s never been particularly neat—or has never _cared_ enough to be neat, when they have sex—and spills some of the oils on Sylvain’s thighs when he slicks his fingers. He leans in before Sylvain can complain, reaching back to press slick fingers inside himself while he hisses against Sylvain’s jaw.

It’s most definitely a punishment from the Goddess and the devil both, that Felix hasn’t even given him time to undress before doing this. He’s so hard that it _hurts_ , and it’s difficult to parse if he wants Felix to pin him down and ride him for all that he’s worth, or if he wants to shove Felix onto the floor and fuck him the way that always gets him to scream. (Both. _Both_ , Goddess, both, until the clock strikes just thirty minutes after twelve and he’s called away again.)

“Eyes on me,” Felix orders. Authority suits him ridiculously well. “If you’re going to be distracted—”

“No,” Sylvain swears. Felix doesn’t understand the kind of hold he has—not forced, not destined, but _chosen_. Sylvain has no obligation to a Queen not his own, but he would gladly march and fight and die if Felix asked him to. He thinks: if this is love, then he’d gladly drown in it, and burn in it, and sink into it until it consumes him whole. “I’m thinking about you.”

“I’m right— _here,_ ” Felix gasps out the last word and it’s the hottest damn thing, watching the way he shudders, feeling the way he arches. Sylvain kisses him, like he wants to a hundred, million times, and swallows Felix’s moan like he’s never tasted anything sweeter. 

(He hasn’t. Love is, at times, madness and heat and hysteria coiled tight in his chest—and maybe this is why he’s the Jack of Hearts, a mad knight serving a mad Queen.

Felix deserves better.)

They don’t slide together in a soft tangle of limbs. Sylvain is rough, and Felix demands rougher; their kisses end in bites and bruises and harsh drags of fingers to leave their marks. Sylvain will kiss every single one in apology, later—and Felix will trace around the ones he’s left, and kiss Sylvain to get him to stop. (He doesn’t like it when Sylvain apologizes for the things they like. It’s a good thing Sylvain never means them.)

“Let me finish inside,” Sylvain requests, teeth and tongue and lips trailing down to Felix’s neck, to Felix’s collar. Felix is a mess above him, all shuddering breaths and tight heat; he would look vulnerable like this if he wasn’t capable of bleeding Sylvain dry in the blink of an eye.

“Fuck you,” is Felix’s answer, as usual and as always. He lays his hands atop Sylvain’s and drags them to his hips. Sylvain echoes his curse in part and fucks him until the rest of his words fall in broken, desperate moans. Hearing it makes Sylvain shudder; his fingers dig in with more force than he means, and already he can tell that he’ll leave dark, ugly bruises on Felix’s skin. 

(If he gets lucky, Felix will mention it in the next letter he writes. _You’re insatiable_ , he’ll say, and Sylvain will respond, _only for you, Your Majesty; I’m the absolute worst when it comes to you._ They’ll dance their dance. Sylvain will play with his words. Felix will lose his patience. Eventually, he’ll write, _come to me_ —and Sylvain always will.)

And Felix—

(Felix will wait for him. Felix _always_ waits for him.)

—Felix is _soft_ beneath all his angry edges. He buries his face into the crook of Sylvain’s neck, and the intimacy is maddening, tantalizing, alluring, _addicting._ Sylvain tilts his head back, inviting—but instead of biting, instead of drawing blood, instead of tearing out Sylvain’s throat like he ought to, Felix says, “ _Sylvain,_ ” in the most wanton, fucked out voice that Sylvain’s ever heard.

It’s a lot to handle. A _lot_. Sylvain feels his throat dry, and he’s pretty certain that he transcends to an entirely new dimension of arousal that shouldn’t be humanly possible. (But that’s what Felix does to him: he takes all of Sylvain’s ideas about what’s achievable and not, and grinds it to dust beneath his heel.)

“Felix, fuck—”

(I love you, I love you, I love you, my one true Queen.)

He makes a mess of Felix’s clothes, when he cums. Felix makes a mess of his in turn. Sylvain loosens his hold to let Felix move away like he always does, except Felix doesn’t, and slips down to curl against him instead.

By the time Sylvain is done wondering if this is a moment of illusionary bliss, he already has an arm around Felix’s waist, and Felix is commanding his gaze with fingers at his jaw.

“When I kill your Queen,” Felix says, sharp words between scattered breaths, “Then, you can finish inside.” 

And the unspoken: _then, you will be mine. Then, I will be yours. Then, Jack of Hearts, you will be my Ace of Spades—and we will be happy, like you promised we would._

**Author's Note:**

> twitter (@silvergraced)
> 
> nvm i ended up writing a sequel [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22643605/chapters/54119719), except its Longer and Chapter Fic bc im a goddamn FOOL


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